


Short Greens

by nandroidtales



Category: Emmy The Robot (Webcomic)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:00:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28168131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nandroidtales/pseuds/nandroidtales
Kudos: 6





	Short Greens

Civil War Engineer Anon:  
>tfw you're in the engineer's corps for the army  
>you and your men set up pontoon bridges across rivers, do demolitions and earthworks, really any job under the Sun  
>but when you retire you have another passion  
>you've seen gruesome injuries on both sides, and not just in humans  
>the nandroid nurses, considered disposable for the purposes of retrieving men from the battlefield, are as badly beat up as the men, sometimes worse  
>a minie ball may tear off a hand here, or bar shot a pair of legs  
>mercifully they couldn't feel it, but they'd sit there, despondent at not being able to help anymore  
>and you wanted to fix that  
>you'd gather up as much scrap material as you could and built up your own little hospital for the nandroids behind the lines  
>the generals scolded you for imprudent waste of resources, but you told them where to shove it  
>you'd received more than a handful of citations by way of runner, but that didn't bother you none  
>it was worth it to see one of those little robots, likely drafted from the richer households as an other, flex their newly repaired arms or take second-first steps as you patched them up  
>and then they'd run off to their own special quarters to show off their shiny new parts to their sisters, and you'd hear them chatter through the night, ready for the next day

>decades later you and the men of your outfit are hiking across one of the battlefields you graced all those years ago  
>you're surveying by memory to pick a spot to put up a great granite memorial to your unit  
>on this field specifically the trenchworks you'd put together expertly were key to victory, or so the papers said at least  
>the same papers paying for the monument, you reminded yourself  
>as you parade along the old, trodden ground sometimes you'd see flocks of the old robots, tottering about the same fields as you  
>and it'd be those same robots who'd rush over to thank you for giving an arm, literally, to keep them going  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Ms. /co/ Sterling Posts  
Afternoon, folks at home! John Sterling here, founder of Sterling robotics. Many of you watching may have seen my precocious little creations strolling about your grocery stores and parks, and I’m here to say they’re far more than maids! A watchmaker’s son, there are two things which matter to me: saving time, and masterful, precise craftsmanship. I can tell you these little androids are far more than just a maid - they’re your all-in-one domestic helper and confidant. She’s the office secretary, the daily planner, five-star chef and household help all at once!  
When you find yourself voting this season for whomever is the best in the market for robots, remember to vote Sterling.  
>checks watch  
It must be 6:30 already, because *hands down* a Sterling is the choice for you! Save yourself some *time* this September, and go for a Sterling.

John Sterling here with a short message for you folks at home. By now you’ve likely heard by way of radio, television or… other sources that we here at Sterling Robotics have run into some trouble. Now allegations of interference in certain local elections or funding paramilitaries aside, I will say that we did have a situation not too long ago. It seems to me some of the workers in one of our, er, “Sterling Fulfillment Centers” in Peru became overly enamored with our product and then stole a ludicrous number of our nadroids. Suffice to say this action has been corrected to the best of our legal team’s ability, in cooperation with Peruvian authorities and things will be back on track. If your nandroid is late for delivery or “disheveled” on arrival, please understand this is not the fault of the top notch employees here at our Zurich headquarters. So please, feel free to continue supporting Sterling Robotics! Especially during the…  
>*checks notes*  
>”Altermatt, the hell is a ‘Ms. /co/?’”  
>”You’re serious aren’t you?”  
… During the prestigious and civil “Ms. /co/” tournament! So do your part and move past these minor setbacks and move forward with us this September!  
>”We done? Christ I need a smoke. We got any of those moon cigarettes?”

Sterling here, pack it up folks. Suffice to say our little "apology" tour didn't bowl over too well with the Peruvians. Apparently the bastards were unionized and now a bunch of east coast elite lawyers are jumping in to represent them in a class action lawsuit. Obviously Legal is on this like, well, Peruvians on a nandroid.  
>Hope that ages well...  
...Right, as I said Legal's working on it and this pinko garbage should be cleared up soon enough. Engineering, I know your...  
>*audible sigh*  
...'babies' were at the center of this, but we have to take a hit here and at least pretend to give a damn. You too Marketing, cut the "Ms. /co/" campaign, people don't want "labor criminals" running for a glorified dick measuring contest.  
>"Altermatt, get me a brandy."  
>"Neat."  
>"Wha- No, you can't have one too!"  
>"What about your 'waifu', speak English!"  
>"Christ man keep it together, there's always next year."  
Oh! Right. Well, everyone, keep at it but keep quiet, we'll be out of this soon enough, Special Projects will be busy out the ass but they've got it. Sterling out.

Sterling here, this’ll be my last message for a while, but I’ve got some good news for everyone! Firstly, the Special Projects boys pulled it off so you can drink to that. Secondly, if you’ve received this intranet message, congratulations! You’re now on permanent vacation! Yes, I was excited to hear this new plan from Marketing too, but just you wait! The…  
>*papers shuffling*  
…”Sterling… Adventure… Getaway”...  
>”Damn Marketing fruits…”  
Sorry, heh, the, “Sterling Adventure Getaway is like living on the run, with all of the fun! Choose any vacation destination outside of NATO jurisdiction and live life as an outlaw! If you have this message, your instructions are down below!” Just sign the damn thing people, follow it to the “letter” in case the “alphabet” shows up to visit, capisc? For those of you anxious about “the kids” or your “civil liberties”, shut up! You get to live *almost* anywhere in the world, and I’m paying! Why, I’m so tired I’m going on vacation too, who knows where I’ll end up!  
>Don’t ask.  
But for you lucky folks, try such destinations as: Algeria, Bhutan, and others I’ll refrain from listing! Hell, you can even go to Peru!  
>Just stay outside of the hundred mile Lima exclusion zone.  
>What’s that Altermatt? A *thousand* miles? Ah.  
Scratch that, do *not* go to Peru. But please, go on out there as fast as possible! Preferably the moment you leave this building in an orderly fashion for the Sterling Bus Lot! Anyways, folks, it’s been a great pleasure working here with you these many years…  
>except you, Marketing...  
… er, and I wish you all the best! See you soon!  
>Hopefully not.  
>Altermatt! You have my clubs?  
>Perfect, and the wills are in order?  
>Dammit man, you switched the ones for my wife and mistress!  
>But Bradbury has the real one, right?  
>And the death certificates are in order?  
>Good man! Grab the cigars and let’s beat it.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Nandroid Fight Training

>"Missus Bradbury, this isn't the classroom, is something the matter?"  
>"No, dear, just doing some routine testing."  
>Bradbury ushers the little robot (an underperformer, unfortunately) into the blank white room  
>A table is laid out with a handful of tools and implements, from hammers to detached handrails and bricks to boots  
>In the opposite end of the room is a Sterling MICbot (Mining, Industry, Construction)  
>The nandroid shivers with fear at the outmode across from her  
>"Mike, wake up."  
>The robot stirs to life as its hulking, ponderous form stands up  
>With some creative rewiring its been stripped of any inhibitors to violent tendencies, and it eyes the robot blankly as it assesses the room  
>The archaic models were slow and aged, but no less deadly in the wrong hands  
>Bradbury remotely triggers the panic response in the nandroid  
>The robot lurches forward and swings its massive girder-bending fists at the robot  
>Instinct taking over (and nonlethal options dispensed with) the maid rolls forward to seize a crowbar from the table  
>Deftly swinging around she jabs it into the delicate spinal core of the construction droid  
>It flips around and flings the nandroid against the far wall with a sweep of its hands  
>Seizing a sledgehammer from the table it winds up to finish the job  
>Dodging left the nandroid narrowly avoids the blow, head inches from the concrete crater in the wall  
>Dashing around again she whacks at its delicate joint and hydraulic workings with the crowbar  
>Stabbing the prying end into the back of its neck where she was hanging, the robot finally groans to a halt and collapses  
>Panting, coated in hydraulic fluid and cracked in numerous places, the robot falls against the observation glass  
>"Well done, very well done! You passed your test with flying colors, and now -you- get to teach a class of your own!"  
>"Doesn't that sound nice, being a teacher like me?"  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Avery and Lulu

>Despite how Avery felt about doing the "lady's work" around the house, she secretly loved being the one out shopping  
>She'd never tell anon that, though  
>The hustle and bustle of downtown, the sweeping selections, everything about it was a taste of the wider world  
>Stepping off the train, list in hand, she gets to work gathering up everything for dinner that night  
>Wandering through the dairy section, aimlessly looking for the 'right' kind of cheese she spotted a narrow, sweatered shape  
>Avery figured it had to be an employee looking like *that* in December, and approached her to ask for help  
>Not that she needed it or anything!  
>But it would be nice  
>"Hey there, you know where I can find-"  
>As the little person turned around she stopped short, staring eye to eye with another robot, identical to her save for her hair  
>And her eyes, and that nasty crack in her cheek, and her clothes, and-  
>Yeah maybe not that similar  
>But she was a nandroid nonetheless  
>"Heya! You, uh, know where I can find this cheese," she asked, pointing at her list  
>The other robot shrugged before backing away slowly, edging towards the florist's that flanked the refrigerated section of the store  
>"Wait, hold up," Avery whispered as she sidled up next to her, proffering a hand. "Avery."  
>"Lul- Lucy," the other said, taking it gently  
>"So Lucy, what says we help each other out. I'm looking for this and could use a wingman and," Avery started, eyeing the handful of bouquets in her cart, "it looks like you could use one too."  
>Lucy's cheeklights flared instinctively before turning to Avery  
>"So it's a guy, is it?"  
>She nodded  
>"Gotcha, gotcha. First of all, throw this sappy crap out."  
>Avery returned the handful of flowers to their place  
>"Okay, rule number one - be confident. You gotta gun for this dude and *believe* you're gonna get him. That's... that's about it."  
>"W-Well, I," she stopped. "Confidence isn't exactly my *ahem* strong suit, you see I-"  
>"Gotcha, gotcha - easy solution to an easy problem. Not confident enough? Make him less confident! I try and beat up my guy at least once a week to keep him in line. Nothing lasting, mind you, but a tussle where you come out on top goes very far to reminding them who's on top."  
>"If you're on top why're you here shopping," Lulu spat.  
>"Woah wait, that's it! That's what you need!"  
>"What's it?"  
>"What you just did! You *snapped* at me! THAT'S confidence sweetheart. You gotta have the stones to talk back, show him you're not ready to be pushed around or hung by your heartstrings."  
>"O-Oh, well, I don't think I can talk to him like *that*."  
>Avery clamped a hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes  
>"If you could do it to me, you can do it to anyone hun," Avery smiled. "That's the magic of it!"  
>Returning to the little display Avery yoinked back a bouquet, thrusting it into Lucy's hands  
>"You need at least *something* to give him - but he's gonna take it whether or not he likes it."  
>"O-Okay, that seems reasonable enough. Well then I really should be going," she softly laughed  
>"Wait I still need some help finding this cheese."  
>"Find your own damn cheese," Lucy giggled  
>"Attagirl!"  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Cult Leader Nandroid

>Sterling Robotics took care to make their robots imaginative, creative and adaptable  
>The introduction of dream-type programming in newer models, replacing the previous 'slideshow' method, was proving very popular among owners and the robots alike  
>A random assignment algorithm put together dream scenarios mimicking those of humans  
>But what this little nandroid was seeing couldn't be chalked up to random chance  
>Each night when she would close her eyes her vision was filled with imagery of visitors from the sky, fires across the Earth, the veritable coming of the endtimes  
>She grew irrational, anxious and couldn't focus on her work anymore  
>Numerous runs through Sterling Nandroid Remediation all failed  
>By the time she was putting the kids to bed with tales of 'Space Brothers' come to put an end to mankind's petty squabbles it was time for her to go  
>Booted out onto the street the dreams only grew more prophetic; apocalyptic scenes of nuclear devastation juxtaposed idyllic futuristic cities  
>She had her vision of the future, she needed only make it come true  
>Life as an outmode was hard, but manageable if one laid low  
>But she was not meant to lay low, she owed it to the same species which had cast her out  
>Each day she'd go around ringing her bell, sandwich board clattering against her legs  
>After a few weeks of scrimping she'd gotten a megaphone and (thankfully) some tinfoil for shielding against mind poisoning  
>A scattering of followers, mostly outmoded robots like her, started to listen  
>The scattered and downtrodden people of society started to gather on street corners to listen to her  
>With time her flock grew and expanded, and she was able to spread her message to more people  
>Governments began to take notice when she could recite classified knowledge at will  
>But she was already too influential to 'neutralize'  
>The authorities could only helplessly watch as their secrets were spilled onto the streets and into the mouths of the people  
>The little robot was worshiped as a prophet of the coming Great Transition, when, according to her, the good people of the world would be ferried away to the Pleiades to live a life of leisure and comfort in peace  
>Sterling, at the behest of what few Earthly authorities survived intact, tried in vain to remotely deactivate her  
>All of her failsafes had magically disappeared, a miracle she credited to her Benefactors  
>The pieces were all coming together, she'd say, and soon the Transition would come and usher in the Good Times  
>In the mean time she further prosleytized and walked the Earth, now healing the sick and dying where she went  
>Were there any doubt in her powers before they were gone  
>Come December, on a fading holiday called Christmas, she announced the Final Week  
>As soon as she finished, all of the Earth's power was cut  
>A darkness not known since the conception of Man in Earth's primordial womb returned  
>In New York and so many other cities across the world, the stars shone with a fury unseen for centuries  
>And then They came  
>As soon as the skies opened they were blockaded by a billion white saucers, pockmarking the skies in their resplendent, marbled beauty  
>The little robot humbly sat in a field beneath one for a week, the growing number of disappearances on the Earth little concern to her  
>Millions of people slowly vanished from the planet as the long darkness set in  
>On the final day of the final week, the ships receded  
>The little nandroid was nowhere to be found, save for her now discarded foil hat  
>As the millions left behind tried to make sense of what had happened, it grew cold, and fast  
>In the heart of Winter the departure of the fair-haired visitors had cooled the Sun until only a dying ember remained, Earth's sky reduced to a permanent nighttime  
>The last denizens of Earth watched the descent of their planet into the long cold of death helplessly  
>All that could be done upon the hellishly cold surface for the few brave enough to scavenge on it was to watch the stars  
>As the last remnants of human life on Earth faded into the cold, the last pair of eyes on the planet watched the constellation Taurus, the Seven Sisters burning warmly and welcomingly, winking at those they'd left behind  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Nandroid Ballet

>"Alright class, let's look at your performance today: we've been having a lot of trouble with our brise and cabriole, unfortunately," the instructor began.  
>Ballet class was easily the nandroids' least favorite activity, if such a thing could exist in their rosy world  
>It was far more demanding of them than Cookery, World History, Arithmetics, and the rest  
>But, at least according to Ms. Bradbury, the most important  
>Bradbury would demonstrate to the amusement of the class what the difference was between a nandroid who did and didn't do her ballet was  
>Clumsily slipping around and falling repeatedly she'd show them just how crucial it was  
>Suzy chuckled remembering the Miss demonstrating for the class  
>She still remembers being like that, fresh from the factory and into classes  
>Her and her sisters wobbled around on unsteady legs, only stable when they walked slowly, methodically  
>"Inefficiently" as Bradbury would put it  
>Smiling, though, she remembers the triumph she felt after being the first to pull off the more advanced moves  
>While her classmates were still clung to the barre she was kicking in the air and landing on her toes, flowing between adagio and allegro like water  
>But in time, to her pleasure, the rest caught up  
>By graduation time they'd never have to worry about stumbling under a heavy load of groceries, or the intense effort of balancing while running; all that came naturally now  
>At times Suzy still found herself, alone of course, gripping the banister in her home and breaking into positions  
>Or, were the home properly empty, she'd put on one of the Mister's vinyls and gracefully bound around the kitchen, reliving those younger days as she danced  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Nandroid and Clay

>The young Miss had, to her chagrin, procrastinated on one of her projects  
>And now that art project was due in three days  
>Enough time, surely, and better than the overnight 'assistance' she'd offer for the older childrens' schoolwork  
>But art, despite all her maidly education, was not her strong suit  
>Painting, sketching - maybe  
>But not sculpting  
>The wet lump of clay mocked her as it sat, drying itself up only to be wet again  
>Staring at it she pokes and prods the dense mass, each new pockmark becoming a cavern into the brown blob  
>She wets her hands again  
>With really no direction she starts to fold and shape the clay into something, anything  
>Vying for inspiration in the glutinous sediment in front her she shapes a face in the blob, only to smash it away in frustration  
>Then it dawns on her; a self portrait, no, a *figurine* portrait, wait - a **family** of figurines  
>She'd had it  
>Summoning up her courage and ignoring the dark stains forming on her cuffs and dress she set to work molding out the five family members to the best of her ability  
>The Mister, book in hand and pipe in mouth, and the Missus with her glasses perched high up on her nose  
>Then the Young Miss and her gap-toothed smile and her brother, long haired and aloof  
>And not to forget the baby, tiny and sweet  
>Hours had passed and her battery grew light, her head foggy  
>But the work was done, at the very least  
>Weakly she dragged herself off to charge  
>Awaking the following morning in time to finish (tomorrow was the fateful day) she made way for the kitchen  
>The cutting board she'd used as an easel was cleaned up, the kitchen spotless  
>And there was her little sculpture family, complete and finished  
>There was an extra member now, though, a little robot joining them out of the spare lump of leftover clay  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Human Outmodes

>Every day walking down the street the little robot would see humans idling and sheltering in the alleyways  
>Faces familiar after months of passing by would come and go with the seasons, each bitter winter driving them away and leaving it empty  
>She'd tried to alert Outmode Services to the predicament only to be turned away, and even once taken as an outmode herself  
>So she avoided raising any fuss over the humans she saw  
>She was worried for them most of all  
>She knew they weren't explicitly *dangerous* like a robot could be (they were infallible humans, after all)  
>But seeing behavior like that set off a number of prebuilt alarm bells she couldn't shut out  
>She never could tell when, or even if, humans could be outmodes  
>It haunted her worst dreams that the young man she was raising could become an outmode, or at least like one  
>Him growing up to be a spray-painting, tobacco-smoking hoodlum kept her up at night  
>Not to mention those people the Mister called 'hippies'  
>The outmode rights activists scared her too, the idea that humans could be so willing to put themselves in danger out of sympathy (even if misguided)  
>It was very noble, yes, but troubling all the same  
>The least she could do, for now, was toss a smile or a wave to those 'outmodes' in the alleys and gutters of the city  
>An understanding ear here and there wouldn't hurt anyone either, she felt and, perhaps, it would do some good for the robot outmodes as well  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Amy and the Wind

>"You're saying... it moves, Doctor Khatri?"  
>"Amy, I- Yes. Wind is air that moves."  
>"But how, that doesn't make any sense. I don't see air move, and I don't feel it none either," she said, tapping her cheeks. "Cold resistant."  
>The man buried his head in his palms  
>He was trying, in vain, to tell Amy to put Ajay in a warmer coat; the wind chill factor was intense that day  
>But to Amy there was no wind chill - there was no *wind* at all  
>"Just the attractive forces between fabrics, hair and other objects," she'd say with an air of authority  
>It was Sterling policy not to teach nandroids how the weather worked for fear of them becoming climate conscious  
>Considering their manufacturing cycle they'd be less than pleased and likely fall into a deep depression if they knew  
>"Okay Amy, listen closely - there's lots and lots of air on this planet, yes?"  
>She nodded  
>"Yes, okay, and that air moves around a lot, and it moves some things sometimes."  
>"But sir, how-"  
>"Wait a minute, please. That air can be cold, very cold, and I don't want Ajay getting sick."  
>"Oh heavens sir, I didn't know he could get sick from the 'wind'!"  
>"Yes Amy, *very* sick, so please, when you go out, bundle him up, okay?"  
>"Yes, sir!"  
>Stepping away from the table Amy went to wake Ajay, the young man still not aware of his snow day  
>She'd make sure to wrap him up a bit extra, for the Doctor's sake  
>But she didn't know how to tell him politely the truth about the wind  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nandroid Meets a Replicant  
>“Excuse me sir, are you in line?”  
>The nandroid tapped the man in front of her’s shoulder when he didn’t respond  
>Turning about she stared eye to eye with the statuesque man, a short crop of blonde hair atop his head  
>Narrowing his eyes at her he looked her up and down  
>Stepping back just a little the robot continued  
>“A-Are you in line, sir? For groceries.”  
>He took a moment to process this, an adequate response being chunked together behind his eyes  
>Looking down he noticed the basket on his arm and the handful of items inside  
>To a nandroid’s refined palate it was a dismal spread, and little could be made from his assorted canned goods  
>It seemed, to her, like his first time shopping  
>“Sir?”  
>“Oh,” he started, glancing back at her. “In... line? Ah! Of course, I am in line.”  
>”Excellent, excellent - sorry to bother you.”  
>The robot stepped back to give him some space as swung around again, stepping ahead in one stride  
>The nanny eyed him closely, a subtle tick throwing one of her alarms  
>Marching inexorably onward she began to speculate on what was inside of that leather jacket  
>Nervous she watched him fiddle inside of it for a moment, expecting him to produce a firearm  
>Worse yet, a vest rigged with explosives to take the store hostage  
>Pulling out a kerchief he wiped his brow  
>“So you’re a robot,” he said, turning back to her. “Very interesting.”  
>“I- Yes, sir, I am,” she returned, just a bit peeved  
>The urge to be snide grew, a little itch in her head irking her to talk back  
>“And I assume you’re a robot too? Are you Sterling, GR, Atlas?”  
>He paused, then smiled at her  
>“No, Volkmann.”  
>Turning around he paid for his handful of groceries, leaving the stupefied robot behind while he threw on a pair of sunglasses and left the store  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Nandroid's Kid Wants a Toy  
>“But I want it,” the child shrieked  
>Groaning the little robot tugged the kid away from the store  
>People were starting to stare; the number one thing on any nandroid’s list of what to avoid  
>Digging her feet into the ground she pulled back on the robot’s arm - were she strong enough she’d have popped it right out of its socket  
>Her impatience was growing quickly, the whole of the store’s eyes on her as her kid wailed behind her  
>Every protocol for such a situation was to console (coddle by more conservative standards) and move on  
>“I hate you, I hate you,” she screamed repeatedly  
>Well now it was personal  
>Turning around she marched the child back into the store, past the toy aisle, and to the deli  
>There were already plans in place for supper, but those would have to change  
>“Hello sir, do you have any,” she paused, glancing at the whimpering girl, “liver?”  
>Smiling he handed the little lady her purchase, the pair now ready to go  
>“Yes, the Young Miss loves her liver, doesn’t she,” she asked, staring at the girl  
>She was ready to protest but peeped as the nanny’s eyes widened just a bit, nodding silently  
>“Good girl.”  
>Leaving the store in silence, no more errant eyes watching them, she patted the little lady’s head  
>IF she behaved, and IF she ate something new, and IF she cleared her plate every night from now on  
>There was a chance, however small, that they might come back and get that stupid toy  
>But that didn’t depend her, the nandroid explained, it was up to the little lady sitting in the back of the car  
>The ball was in her court now  
>Some mumbling came from the back seat, an apology whispered and drowned by the radio  
>Ticking it down the robot peered back in the mirror  
>“What was that, hun?”  
>“I’m sorry,” she muttered  
>“I accept your apology.”  
>The girl smiled briefly  
>“But you’re still eating all your dinner.”  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Cassy New Year's  
>The year had gone by fast  
>It was more… turbulent, than the last, the family facing a few hiccups along the road  
>Not to mention the state of the country  
>But that wasn’t important now, it was time to celebrate  
>It was New Year’s Eve with the tree still up  
>It gifted a homely glow to the living room, something much needed for the bitterness outside  
>A freak blizzard had cooped the family together the past weeks, Cassy tending the home as usual (plus some shoveling)  
>The roads were finally clearing now, thankfully  
>Accordingly, the Mister and Missus were ready to adjourn to a party for the night  
>This left Cassy and the young lady home alone this New Year’s Eve  
>And she was faced with the unfortunate proposition of the young miss to stay up until the ball dropped  
>On the one hand, she was strictly told not to entertain this  
>On the other the parents wouldn’t be home until late, very late - possibly morning  
“Can you keep a secret?”  
>The girl nodded ecstatically  
“You’ll be up on time tomorrow, okay?”  
>Nodding again their pact was sealed  
>Snacks together and blankets out the two were ready, giggling at the variety shows arranged for the night, Cassy putting a vinyl on in the background  
>There was Live footage from New York, a genial man amid the crowd as the camera glanced at the display  
“Couple more hours.”  
>No response  
>The girl was still, save the tiny whistle of her breath  
>Smiling, Cassy tucked her in as watched the set, clock ticking away  
>Shaking the girl awake she pointed at the screen, the countdown just a minute away  
>Groggily she started counting, Times Square breaking out into cheers  
>As the clock struck midnight she slumped back over, out like a light  
>Sinatra singing behind her, Cassy carried the girl to bed, singing a song of her own to the sleeping girl  
>An old tune, about friends coming together again  
>A song about sharing a drink, toasting to those times long since past  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nandroid Turned Human  
"Sir?"  
"Yes, Michelina?"  
"What's it like to be human?"  
>The old man was dumbfounded  
>His darling creation stared back at him with gentle eyes, imploring him for an answer  
>He took the delicate wooden girl onto his lap and stroked her hair gently  
>The whir of fans and drivers inside meted out the time as he held her  
>He couldn't find the words to describe it properly, no doubt leaving her unsatisfied  
>All he could give her were vague feelings; snow melting on one's cheek, hands interlinked with a loved one, holding that loved one close by the fire  
>All of these meant little to her, for she could not feel those feelings, just the rhythmic grinding of her synthetic joints  
>It made her feel awful, a lump building inside her that had no outlet to pop or release  
>She wanted to cry but didn't have the tears to do so, so she just let herself off the man's lap before sulking quietly to bed  
>There was a lot of chores to do tomorrow, she reminded herself  
>Staring out her window, over the little town and to the sky she watched the glittering stars above  
>Each one danced in place, tracing lines telling of heroic deeds or birds chasing cups of water  
>But none could stir her imagination like they would for a human  
>None could pull up and away from this tiny town and her life behind a broom for a man she did not, *could* not, feel love for  
>As she turned to put her light out a blinding light streaked across the sky, bright blue and fiery it plummeted downward  
>Stories read to her when she was younger told her to make a wish with all of her heart (?)  
>So she did  
>Slipping under the covers, satisfied with her wish, she slipped away into her overnight cooldown routine, eagerly waiting until morning  
>There was a thumping now  
>Not at the door like she'd expected (heavens forbid she oversleep and not make Sir's breakfast)  
>But... elsewhere  
>She opened her eyes to the pale dawnlight, shadows etching along the wall as she looked around  
>She took a deep breath as she looked around her room  
>Wait what  
>Feeling her chest she felt the rise and fall as she inhaled, and exhaled  
>And there was that thumping - rhythmic, powerful, driving  
>It was like a sweet song as she felt her limbs and pinched herself, skin and bone replacing synthetic paneling and a metal frame  
>She launched herself out of bed and began dancing around her room, kicking her legs in the air  
>And then into the wall immediately afterwards  
>Clutching her foot she hopped one-legged to her bed, gritting her teeth  
>And now her stomach was hurting too, strange that it connected to the feet  
>There was a lot to learn, she could tell  
>Wandering downstairs, careful not to bump her foot anymore, she arrived in the kitchen  
"Who are you!? What are you doing in my house?"  
>The old man was awakened by the commotion upstairs, and now pointed his old sword at the lady  
"Sir it's me, Michelina! I wished on a star, sir!"  
>She held her hands up, pleading with the man as he started to lower the sabre  
>His stomach grumbled too  
>Breakfast ready and on the table she took to her broom, tidying up as he ate  
"Are you not going to finish that, sir?"  
"This is for you, dear. You didn't make yourself anything?"  
>She paused, rubbing her aching belly  
>It had dawned on her that, yes, she needed to eat as well  
>Taking a forkful into her mouth she practically threw herself backwards  
>She had no idea she was such a good cook, she thought, before shoveling away the rest  
>Standing up she pulled the man out of his chair and onto his feet, swinging him up and around as she danced  
>The urge to move was intense, the man pleading with her to slow down as he guided her towards the fireplace  
>Sitting on the sofa, puffing as he caught his breath, he apologized for his age to the young lady  
>She, in turn, apologized for being more than a bit overeager, seating herself next to him  
>The fire roared in front of them as a winter wind buffeted the house from outside  
>For the first time in her life she felt warm, the cozy atmosphere swallowing her as she teared up  
>Little drops tickled her cheeks as she sat there, staring into the flames as they danced and contorted  
>Laying a hand on her shoulder the man comforted her, patting her slowly as he rubbed her back  
"There, there, Michelina - it will all be okay."  
"It's not that... sir," she sniffled. "It's just so pretty."  
>Pulling him close for support she quieted down, sniffling in the warm air  
>For the first time, though, she felt that link he'd talked about  
>She felt just a touch warmer as she held the man she'd watched after all these years, the two watching the flames crackle and twist together  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Bobby "Arrests" Avery  
"Stop... resisting," shouted the officer  
"I'm... not... an outmode," screamed the other  
>The two were trapped in a struggle; the one robot no stronger than the other as they wrestled on the sidewalk  
>Bobby was on the beat, meaning no radio to call for help, and no one was around to call the police  
>Avery was on her own beat, trying to walk to the grocery store as usual  
>Evidently the officer had taken issue with her clothing and deemed her an outmode  
>And that brought them to the present struggle when Avery objected to the charge of unlicensed outmodeship  
>The ensuing scuffle had gone on for minutes now, each trading blows back and forth  
>The tombot elbowed the officer repeatedly in her gut, a dent forming in the steel plate there as Avery's elbow cracked with each blow  
>Bobby swung the cuff towards one wrist and found purchase  
>Avery slipped her hand away, practically stealing the officer's cuff as she palmed her in the chin  
>Her helmet flying off, hair thoroughly ruffled, she threw herself at the robot and tackled her to the ground  
>Struggling, Bobby tried to swing her loose helmet to spook the nandroid, only for her to grab it out of her hands  
>Slipping the helmet over her head she whipped her head into the other, flinging her and her blonde head backwards  
>Avery jumped up, laughing at the officer as she rubbed her forehead  
>She patted her coat, buttons torn away, for her cuffs  
"Later bitch," a voice trailed off, it's red-haired owner already gone around a corner  
>The glimmer of nickel-plate in the sun told her all she needed to knew  
"Chief's gonna be on my ass about that," she said, patting the ground for her helmet  
>Then, an image of the blue helmet *on top* of that red head flashed in her head  
>Oh  
>Ruffling her hair in her hands, Bobby picked herself up and made her way to the nearest station  
>Not the best way to start the day, she thought, but not the worst, either  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2000's Emodroid  
“Sydney! Where’re the dishes,” the woman yelled.  
“Ugh, I SAID to call me Penumbra! Sydney’s LAME!”  
>The robot mumbled, snide, her Sterling-blue uniform traded for skinny jeans and a MCR shirt  
>Chains jangled as she crossed her arms  
“Sydney’s your name, and you’re supposed to do the dishes! Look at this,” the woman chided, showing her a scummy coffee cup. “This is unacceptable!”  
>Huffing, the nandroid threw back her black hair, sticking a pair of earbuds to her head  
“Why the hell even have kids, then,” she muttered, walking away  
“Young lady get back here n- wh- Young lady?”  
>The woman stopped to collect herself, the robot already gone  
>This had persisted for weeks now, a concert the nandroid chaperoned at evidently changing something  
>Her sons now did the housework, balancing homework on sports on laundry and more  
>It didn’t help that her daughter encouraged the droid  
>It’s not like Sydney had the cash for her own CDs and clothes  
>Or a new, black hairpiece  
>The missus didn’t even know where original went  
>That was until it turned up in the master bathroom with a snide card reading, “4 ur gray hairz xP”  
>The camel’s back was broken now  
>So no one could really blame the mother when, trash bin in hand, she barged into her daughter’s room  
>They shared a beanbag, watching one of their inane animes  
>Snatching the remote she turned the set off, the girls’ shrieks drowned in her righteous fury  
>Grabbing up each disc into the bin, their protests hysterical, she purged the room of each CD or box set  
>Glancing at the walls and in the closet she finished her search, the disc tray emptied as well  
“Okay girls,” she started, heaving. “You MIGHT get these back, IF you start helping out - BOTH of you.”  
“And if you don’t,” she paused. “All gone.”  
>Glancing around the postered walls she made her point clear  
>A flurry of curses and jeers followed her out the door as she slammed it  
>A bit heavy handed, she knew, but it was the only way  
>Now- onto blocking that fan-art website on the computer  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Avery Home Defense  
>When something goes bump in the night, people react in different ways  
>Preppers for this eventuality would take to their arms and repel the intruders with gusto  
>Others less inclined for this, or simply unable, would call the police  
>But when John Sterling began his work on the earliest nandroids he wanted to offer people more than either option  
>When seconds count the police are minutes away, he knew that firsthand  
>But not all people were looking for a gunfight in their own home  
>There was a reason for educating the nandroids in self-defense after all  
>So when there came a jimmying at the lock to anon’s apartment, Avery’s mechanical ears perked up  
>Battery half-charged she sprung from her makeshift charging seat, still in her boxers and ready to go  
>The lock was still jiggling, Avery rushed up to peep on the unknown party  
>There was no small, greying lady like she was hoping, but ski-masked villains  
>The duo outside whispered amongst themselves, crowbar in hand and flashlight ready  
>Anyone who could get their hands on a nandroid had to be loaded  
>But they’d chosen the wrong apartment, Avery knew  
>Quietly she undid the lock for the gentlemen, rolling away into the adjacent kitchen as they snickered in delight  
>Letting them pass she whisked the door shut behind them, taking care not to wake Anon  
>Deftly she threw a blow into the rear man’s knee, dropping him backwards into the ground  
>Thumping into the linoleum he lay there dazed, Avery taking the opening to throw a pair of palm strikes into his solar plexus  
>Now wheezing and groaning she returned to the other before a swing of the crowbar connected with her shoulder  
>Her composite skin cracked under the blow, plastic shards falling to the ground as she clutched the metal skeleton underneath  
>Dodging a swing towards her head, she ducked low and dove for the man’s hips  
>Sucking his support from under him she wrestled him down, grappling as the crowbar clattered to the ground  
>Avery pinned the man by the arms as she heard a stirring from the bedroom  
>She’d need to wrap this up quickly  
>Throwing an elbow into the struggling man’s nose with a wet crack, Avery twisted around to the hobbling partner  
>A well placed kick sent him reeling, grunting, to the ground  
>Fetching some hand towels from the kitchen she managed to bind the prospective bandits, Avery glanced to the hallway where Anon stood  
“Anon! Sorry for waking you this early,” she blustered, embarrassment driving her into the typical apology routine for nandroids  
“Avery it’s fine,” he said, head peeking away from the phone. “Yes ma’am they’re, uh subdued.”  
>Setting the handset down he walked over to hug the robot, thanking her  
>Pushing him away she blew off his praise  
“It was nothing,” she shrugged. “Just training and skill, you know.”  
>Glancing away for effect she let the thanks wash off her  
>But inside she could hardly contain a little squee of delight  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lulu Meets Kid Lulu  
>The clothing section always made Lulu nervous  
>Not *scared* nervous by any means, but the anxiety of picking out new clothes for people was a bit too much pressure  
>Anon wasn’t too concerned with style, but he wasn’t exactly the type of person to complain about garish or unflattering clothes either  
“Something warm will do,” he’d said  
>Something warm was what surrounded Lulu in her entirety, jackets, coats and sweaters of all kinds around her  
>She had a half dozen slung over her left arm to choose from and was about to pick a seventh when a rustling spooked her  
>Twisting her head around Lulu looked for its source, only to find herself alone still  
>The wisp of nylon on fabric skittered again as coats swung to and fro behind her, frantic little footsteps tracing their way into Lulu’s legs  
>A tiny pair of arms clung to her by the knee, the robot dropping her head to the tiny person beneath her  
>A wash of deep black hair hung from a shivering little head, tiny mute sobs coming from them as they squeezed Lulu’s leg  
“Oh, hello there,” Lulu said, crouching down to face the child  
>Her nandroid instincts still pushed her to comfort and care for children wherever she met one, and one crying in front of her simply wouldn’t do  
“Can you tell me your name sweetheart?”  
>A little porcelain face stared back at her, a glowing eye meeting hers, its companion shrouded behind her hair  
>Lulu was taken aback, the little girl in front of her was a robot  
“Do they even make kid robots,” she thought, “or is this some elaborate prank?”  
“Lu-Lucy,” she murmured, glancing down again. “But Momma calls me Lulu…”  
>The tiny kiddroid started to rub her eyes again, sniffling  
>Evidently she’d lost her “Momma”, Lulu reasoned  
>Reaching out she held the girl’s shoulders gently, pulling her in just a bit  
“Did you lose your Momma, hon?”  
>The girl nodded, holding her arms out now  
>Lulu pulled back, unsure what to do  
>The obvious instinct was to hug her… but she didn’t know this kid, did she?  
>That didn’t matter any, she had to help the girl find her mom  
>Wherever the other was she was likely worried sick, running across the store looking for her baby  
>Returning the armful of coats to their homes she returned to the girl, stretching her arms out  
>Gently, slowly, she picked the tiny robot up, her hair swinging away from her face  
>The kiddroid looked into Lulu’s eyes as the sprawling crack on her face plate was revealed  
>She didn’t know whether or not to cover it for fear of scaring the girl  
>That was until she excitedly swept her own hair to the side, pointing to Lulu’s face  
“Woooah! We’re sisters,” the little robot exclaimed  
>Lulu was taken aback  
>Those gouges in the plastic of her face worried her, freezing her in place as the girl smiled  
>Maybe it wasn’t a great idea to bring her back to her ‘Momma’ after all  
“Hey, Lucy,” she started, holding her just a bit tighter, “how’d you get those booboos on your face?”  
>She tried to hide the worried tremble in her voice, the idea of someone watching this exact interaction quickening the left-right tracking of her eyes, her ears pounding in anticipation of someone jumping out at her  
“I fell off the swing at school,” she pouted. “But Momma says I’ll be better when I go to the doctor!”  
“The doctor? School,” Lulu questioned internally. “This is so… weird.”  
“Well next time you oughta be more careful,” she scolded lightly. “These faces don’t come cheap, you know!”  
“Okay,” she muttered, evidently not the first time she’s been told that. “What’s your name? Momma says not to talk to strangers, but you can’t be a stranger if I know your name!”  
“Oh! Well, you gotta be careful with that,” she said, hefting the girl up just a bit. “But my name’s Lucy, too.”  
“What!? Well,” she grumbled, “we can’t be *sisters* if we have the same name…”  
“No, I don’t think so,” Lulu laughed.  
“Can you be my,” she paused, thinking. “My Aunt? I don’t have an aunt, but I’ve got an uncle. I need an aunt.”  
“I could do that.”  
>The little robot giggled, nestling into Lulu’s shoulder as she carried her off to find her mother  
>Lulu continued her march to the customer help counter, hoping to safely drop off the robot and return to her shopping  
>Before she could make it any nearer, though, a yelp sounded down the tiled pathways between departments, the clack of flats nearing her  
>Turning she spotted a spectacled woman marching towards her with another kid in tow, tears welling in her eyes  
“Lulu! Lulu,” she gasped, pulling the android from Lulu’s shoulders. “Oh, thank goodness I found you!”  
>Recoiling she locked eyes with Lulu who stared back at the woman  
“H-Hello,” she peeped. “I found your, er, daughter! I’m glad she’s safe and sound Miss…”  
“Rebecca Davis, *Doctor* Rebecca Davis,” she said, sticking a hand out. “And you?”  
>Lulu noticed the ‘S’ pin she wore on her lapel, a filigree ornament emblematic of the Sterling corporation  
“Lucy,” she returned, shaking back.  
>The woman smiled wider, bleary eyes clearing as she giggled  
“What do you know, her name’s-”  
“I’m well aware,” Lulu smiled. “Think we’re twins?”  
“No! I said we can’t be sisters already,” the little one piped up. “Momma can she be our aunt? We don’t have an aunt just Uncle Tommy so-”  
>The woman knelt by her daughter before tousling her hair, laughing again  
“We’ll see sweety, now come along.”  
>Waving to Lulu, she scooped up her other daughter before slipping away into the store again  
“You too, Sammy!”  
>Lulu’s eyes widened again, an equally small robot with short, brown hair falling in behind her mother  
>Twisting around to wave goodbye to Lulu as well, the boyish hair and face were a mirror image of her own nandroid ‘sister’  
>Waving back, dazed, she returned to the coat racks  
>Maybe she’d see them again, she wondered, but for now she had to focus on getting a proper coat  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hero Nandroid  
>Sterling nandroids are built around several principles core to the Sterling message  
>Their very existence is meant to live as a reflection of the American idyll; they embody quiet service, honest work, humility  
>It's not uncommon to see nandroids sacrifice themselves in house fires, accidents or worse  
>But it wasn't every day they thwarted terrorist attacks  
>Ruby was such a robot  
>She'd been allowed to tag along for the Beacon City Olympics, which her owners had been anticipating for months  
>In one of the great concrete stadiums, though, she sensed trouble  
>A backpack, abandoned, on a load-bearing column  
>The subtle, tinny buzzing only a nandroid's ears could hear  
>Ditching her owners she seizes the package, dashing outside with it in hand  
>Crying for help, pleading she causes stir enough for the police to arrive in force  
>EOD-suited men arrive on scene, tragedy nearly avoided thanks to the little nandroid  
>It was the least the city could do, the mayor explained, to make her a citizen  
>Unprecedented societal upheaval aside, she was chuffed  
>She'd get her own home, a 'hero's stipend' and- wait, a nandroid?

>It wasn't an immediate adjustment, living on her own  
>But Ruby wasn't one to shy away from danger, or a challenge- she had, after all, saved the city from a bombing  
>But this she couldn't handle  
>A mirror image of her own now inhabited her home, the same gracile legs and slender body tottering about (save for a unique-enough hairstyle)  
>And she insisted to do all the work, pouting about the lack of breakfast or coffee to be made  
>Ruby still felt the same drive to clean that all nandroids felt, even after any dependency circuits were disabled  
>She felt free for once, but empty  
>Listless, she moped about the home, collecting her checks every two weeks and doing not much else  
>She watched with envy as her nandroid cleaned and organized, folding the scant personal clothes Ruby had  
>By the second month she was sick of it  
>In a tirade for the ages (by maidbot standards) Ruby threw her nandroid's charging chair from the closet she insisted on, flinging a shirt and skirt of her own at her as well  
>They were equals from this day on  
>And she wouldn't accept it any other way  
>The little townhome was spotless if nothing else  
>Better than spotless; it was immaculate, permanently frozen in perfect cleanliness  
>The two worked in such tandem that it took only a few hours', rather than days', to finish all their work  
>Extending out to their neighbors Ruby and her nand- (ahem) *roommate* started to market their services by the hour  
>Their high intensity, high efficiency cleaning services were the talk of the town for those not fortunate enough to own a nandroid  
>Soon each townhome in their neighborhood, and then the neighborhoods beyond, was collected to that same perfect clean as was in their home  
>It was the least they could do, they figured, after all the city had given them  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Dixie Stampede (heh)  
>"C'mon then, get a move on!"  
>The nandroid was chiding you now  
>You honestly didn't know how to feel, really  
>Confused was about the gist of it; you were herding cattle with a purpose-built maid robot (a vintage model, admittedly), whose name was Dixie... in Montana  
>Gusts of cool air flew across the grassy lands around you, the collective mooing of hundreds of cattle almost drowning out the robot's instructions to you  
>You were a new ranch hand and the grizzled veteran vaqueros around you were leaving you in the dust, literally  
>Save for the nandroid, lagging behind to keep pace with you and take up the rear  
>Adjacent herds were merging with your own, the mass of brown and black and white indistinguishable from each other  
>You knew (as Dixie had repeatedly reminded you) that the brandings were everything  
>And as she pulled up alongside you she was about to remind you again  
>"ANAWN," she yelled. "Don't worry 'bout them gettin' mixed up like! We just gotta get 'em to the railyard, awright?"  
>You nod at the robot, her hair whipping in the wind as she pulls from a trot to a gallop again  
>Following after her, yipping wildly, you pull along the starboard side of the bovine mass charging across the plains  
>The Rocky Mountains glisten in the distance, caps of white shining onto the beautiful grasslands below  
>The pressure was on on your side, you and Dixie sidling your charging stallions closer to the herd, narrowing it as your companions, and other ranchers, put the squeeze on on the other side  
>That damned pass was up ahead, and were the cows not in 'formation' (i.e. single file) you might as well give up and go home  
>You wrestled your horse nearer and nearer, its mane whipping in the air as Dixie reared up, the same happening to her  
>The grass was breaking for scattered rocks here and there, the herd narrowing needle-thin  
>And just in time, too  
>The cleaved rock ahead was *it*- the entrance to the pass Dixie'd shown you months ago when you signed on  
>it was close  
>too close  
>"so close it's cliche"-close  
>The split in the rock might as well have been narrowing with each second  
>But you'd managed it excellently, the swaying head in front of you winnying in surprise  
>The herd was marching just a few abreast through the narrow divide, ranchers taking up the front while in the rear you were left with your mechanical teacher, Dixie  
>"Now THAT was sumthin' Anawn. Hell you were doin' some real rough stuff, *cowboy*," she laughs. "And hey, when we get back to the ranch, see me then darlin~"  
>The robot saunters off to another end of the herd, winking as she slips away  
>The railyard was some miles off still, and you weren't through the pass yet, but you already knew the journey back was gonna be worth it  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Shelly in the Desert (sorta)  
>You came here searching for opal  
>The precious little gems, scintillating in the dirt like drops of starlight against the dismal beige of desert sand, would have you set for life  
>But, after a week of digging and mining aimlessly, you've found nothing  
>And you're running out of water  
>You opt to drive back to the nearest town  
>That was until you found your battery had died, the lights left on over night  
>Your only chance was walking  
>Walking... in the Australian Outback  
>You'd been at it for a day or so, your last gallons of water draining faster than your poor funds (not that money meant much at this point)  
>Your water finally depleted, you feel the pain of dehydration tugging at every fiber of your being  
>Collapsing into the dessicated soil you can only sleep, waiting for some wandering snake, spider or other Australian hellspawn to come claim you before dehydration did  
>"Ah," you say to yourself. "It'll be the hallucinations, then."  
>Your last glimpse is of a red-shirted figure marching towards you, clearly some sick joke being played on your  
>Death playing dress-up, perhaps?  
>No matter, you think, slipping into the quiet unconsciousness of eternal rest

>Is this heaven?  
>Or hell?  
>Cold water engulfs you; the River Styx, it seems  
>Good to know the *Greeks* had it right  
>"OI CUNT," a voice curses you. "WAKE UP, ROIGHT!"  
>It seems Charon has a fowl mouth, and would like you to be up for the trip  
>Maybe later, maybe later  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Soviet Nandroid (soon)  
>The Cold War had been getting hotter for some time  
>The grim truth that was becoming clear to the Soviets and their allies in the Warsaw Pact was that their defincies in the robotic sciences would be their end  
>They'd watched in horror the efficacy with which the US and western allies had used robots to enforce their will on the world  
>First in Korea and Malaya, and Indochina too  
>It was the fist the West needed, and the same fist was lacking in the East  
>Soviet attempts at infiltrating Western robotics companies were failing and only served to embarrass the USSR more  
>But then there came the golden idea  
>Simply purchase a nandroid, or any old robot  
>Modify it, train it, *mold* it into the perfect soldier of Marxism-Leninism the Union needed  
>And then, it looking the same, send it home for quality control  
>Simple, elegant, *cheap*- it was Russian to a fault  
>Now all they needed was their nandroid  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Offices and Mid-Level Executives  
>"Okay, you enter into a small classroom. There's a teacher instructing nandroids, and several dozen nandroids," the Office Master said  
>"Okay... uh, what're we here for again Emmy?"  
>"Amy-oh, *Elizabeth Freedman*, we have to use our game-names. And we're here to ask Ms. Bradbury of Nandroid Education where she'd like the report we put together last session."  
>"Ohhhhh, okay- I ask her that."  
>"'In my office, please!' She smiles at you, and gestures down the hall"  
>"Okay, I suppose we go to her office."  
>"Good idea Pol-oop! Patricia!"  
>The blonde nandroid winks  
>"Okay, you come to the tall, wooden office door of Ms. Bradbury. The windows to the sides are lit, Bradbury having left her small lamp on. What would you like to do?"  
>"I use the ke-"  
>"I open the door," the blonde one interrupts  
>"You try it to no avail; it's locked."  
>"Can I force it open?"  
>"Am- Elizabeth, we have-"  
>"You can try."  
>"Okay, I force the door open."  
>"Roll a strength check"  
>a D20 clatters along the wooden tabletop  
>The blonde nandroid looks down, distraught  
>"Nat-Natural one"  
>The Office Master smiles gleefully, cracking her storytelling knuckles  
>"You grab the handle and rear back, planting your feet on the wall on either side of the door. You pull and pull- and it opens. Flying back towards you the heavy oak door flies from its hinges and hits you, hard."  
>"Oh..."  
>The rumble of 2d4 behind the screen deepens the frown on the robot's face  
>"The door hits you in the face and bloodies your nose, take five bludgeoning damage."  
>The other nandroid smacks her shoulder  
>"Elizabeth, I had the key the whole time!"  
>"But, the door wouldn't open..."  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Nandroid Eats for the First Time  
>Sterling Gastronomics, a subsidiary of Sterling Robotics, was created with a simple vision  
>Sterling, one day, was asked by his personal robot what food was like  
>So taken by the simple question he sought to offer to all of his robots (those made after 1978, at least) the great breadth of human culinary experience and pleasure- at least that's what the ads said  
>It was a grueling research process, being able to map chemical components to flavors, and then figuring out how to connect those to stimuli  
>The original facsimiles of taste that test nandroids were offered were primitive and, frankly, awful

>Flashforward several years, though  
>Your nandroid asks that same question (you suspect it's planted as a subtle form of advertising)  
>But seeing her eyes puppy-up in asking for it you know its something deeper  
>You go out and buy one of the sets  
>Allen wrench in hand you pop off some of her outer plates, much to her embarrassment  
>Slipping the delicate system into her core and tracing it up her neck and connecting it to her mouth, she's ready  
>You ask her what she's like her first meal to be  
>She shrugs, unsure, eyes panning around the kitchen  
>Locking onto the fridge, though, she says it: "Ice cream, sir!"  
>You fetch the pint, scooping a few pink dollops out into a bowl  
>Spoon nestled into the icy spheres you place it in front of her  
>Thankfully she's spent enough time watching you eat (very closely, you remember) that she avoids smearing it across her face  
>She bites it, forcing you to cringe, before smiling  
>She wants to open her mouth and squee but she slips another spoonful into her mouth  
>You remind her to go slow, not wanting her to cause any unfortunate blockage  
>She loves it though, you can tell; were she not bent over hoarfing it down and scraping the bowl clean, she'd have kicked herself backwards from her chair  
>Slapping the bowl back down, spoon clattering around its ceramic circumference, she asks for more  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Flapperdroid in the 1920's  
>"C'mon Daisy, before he hears you!"  
>The young man waved the nandroid out of the home  
>In the past few months she'd expressed interest less than subtle in seeing the sights, the city  
>She was the one who cleaned up after the covert parties the young mister threw in his father's absence, after all- it was the least he could do  
>So, on a special night, wearing a dress slipped carefully from his sister's wardrobe, she set out in his car  
>The rickety, primitive thing ground and roared along the streets, the car carrying them far and away into the beautiful, golden city beyond  
>There was noise, and confusion, and everything that makes sneaking out at night worthwhile  
>Ducking into an alleyway the two, with a secret knock, ducked into one of the burgeoning speakeasies in the city  
>The roar of music flooded her ears- not the gentle operettas the missus insisted on, or the mister's stoic, suffocating silence  
>But music, *noise*, primal and powerful  
>It rocked her body, made the coils in her cheeks redden in response  
>How... *vulgar*  
>But how good, how sweet when he yanked her onto the floor and no one batted a disapproving or horrified eye  
>The motion and the energy of the night, the dim and nonexistent lights, the stench of liquor and seedy whispers of mafiosos eyeing the visitors  
>It was overwhelming, dizzying even- but fun, oh so fun  
>Car roaring ahead, wind whipping her clipped-short hair, she hollered and yelled into the dark city night, pleading to be taken out every night, or every weekend at the very least, just like this  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Prudence Teaser for Her Next Part  
>For a time in the outlands surrounding Salem, and especially in the little hamlet Jeduthan had returned to, there was peace  
>Not the everyday peace that one fabricates in lieu of something larger, but a genuine calm in the region  
>Jeduthan returned to his home carrying, to the surprise of everyone present, the little robot that had begun the whole ordeal  
>He tried, in vain, to explain the miracle she'd performed in saving him, saving the town and likely the souls of all its residents  
>The broken little robot sat slumped in his home for years, the man too afraid to touch her for fear of ruining her further  
>Years passed, snows came and went, and the robot wound up in the hands of the Mister's son  
>Who unceremoniously pawned her to a merchant from Philadelphia  
>The jovial young man was returning from a meeting in Boston and had stayed the night, spying the fascinating little automaton asleep in the corner  
>His own experiments with artificial persons met with limited, if any, success  
>But if he could use her as a blueprint, he could get her working again, see how she ticked  
>Taking her home to his small place in the busy streets of the city, he set her down in his workshop  
>She'd come with a compass of all things, an accessory more likely than anything useful  
>But no matter  
>He contrasted the expert craftsmanship inside of her with his dinky, almost trinket-like machinery laying scrapped across his workbench  
>He was dumbfounded at the intricacy of her brass insides, the bellows inside (pierced by a sizeable wood shard), the rotating cylinder that he assumed made up her thinking system  
>It was insanity and artistry in one, and he think he knew how to fix her  
>He sent for one of his friends, a luthier, to begin working a handful of new wooden plates for her  
>Carefully, delicately, he mapped out each interlocking gear teeth and spring, tracing the wires and making note of their gauges  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Luray and Luluke  
>"Luray," the ranchowner called out  
>"Yessir?"  
>"We's got a new robot comin' in from up round DC."  
>"Sir?"  
>"They *say* he's state of the ahrt, but..."  
>"Understood, sir."  
>"You teach him the ropes, y'see?"  
>"Yessir."  
>Luray breathed deep  
>The farm had cycled through too many hands in too few seasons  
>Luray didn't mind the Appalachian climate, but evidently it was too humid for too many people  
>So, at great personal expense, Farmer Johnson had been buying robots like Luray to help out  
>After a few hours a pickup rocked down the principal dirt road in the valley, a wooden crate lying conspicuously in its bed  
>Helping the few remaining human ranch hands crack it open it revealed a rail-thin robot, a shock of black hair circling his head  
>Even in electric unconsciousness he looked nervous  
>"Awright boys, I'll handle this."  
>The men nodded and left to return to their duties  
>Jostling the robot she clicked him awake, his cord looped on the ground for the following night  
>Eyes blinking he stood on his own in the burly arms of the ladybot holding him  
>"Uhm haha-oh! Hello, Miss, my name's L-Luke, ehehe..."  
>If he could sweat he would've already slipped out of Luray's hands and, releasing him, he nearly slipped over on his own  
>She stuck a hand out  
>Whether through fear or misunderstanding he shot his hands up  
>"Son, I ain't gonna hurtcha, awright?"  
>Taking it, he nodded  
>This was not, she knew, state of the art farming equipment  
>Or any kind of farming equipment  
>"Awright, let's getcha settled in and acquainted, right?"  
>He nodded meekly, following after her  
>Eyeing the gentle, blue slopes of the mountains around him, he sighed in the crisp air  
>"Well?! Come awn!"  
>"Yes ma'am..."  
[The local union rep was sorely surprised when a hulking 10' tractor bot named Bessie showed up on his doorstep and not, as he expected, the short botler he'd ordered. Thankfully, he knew people who were into that.]  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Bobby Arresting Lilah  
>"THIS IS AN UNLAWFUL DEMONSTRATION"  
>megaphones whined and crackled as helmeted riot officers edged closer  
>booming voices called to the crowd to disperse- they had no grounds to protest there, no permit and no lease on the space  
>leaders in the crowd cried for order, to disperse as individual groups and slowly  
>"I'll see you in the streets" they said  
>but, unbeknownst to the crowd, there was no intention in the police lines to allow them any nearer the convention  
>rows of helmets barricades streets as throngs of people pressed against them  
>young and old faces sneered at each other  
>police-order robots flexed their batons anxiously, the order to swing as easily given as, for Bobby, that to dust the shelves  
>her helmet hung low, nearly obscuring her vision  
>the narrow band of the crowd she could see, or rather hear, hissed and booed at her  
>a distinctively robotic voice heckled her, calling her a traitor to the cause of Global Robo-Liberation  
>She flexed her baton instinctively, just waiting on the word  
>A call from the megaphone, a shouted direction, was all she and her compatriots needed  
>She flipped her head back to see better, angrily fixating on the source of the voice  
>She locked eyes with her mirror image, a pale saucer marked by two red spots staring back  
>Brown hair hung from her head, wide blue eyes narrowing in fear as the police line lurched forward  
>She turned to slip between the members of the human mass, her narrow frame worming between bodies to escape  
>Bobby, unamused, swung hard and forward into the lower back of the robot  
>A harsh crack sounded back, vibrations rocking the wooden billyclub like a poorly swung bat  
>She swung low, catching her in the thigh and bringing her down  
>Patty wagons lay behind the advancing line to scoop up any arrested dissidents  
>Grabbing the robot by the scruff of the neck and pulling her up Bobby passed her down the line towards the waiting vans  
>Bobby smirked, shouting "Outmode" behind her, if they even needed a reason  
>The brown-haired robot cried out, struggling against the officers as Bobby advanced with the line  
>A brick rocked off of her helmet, jarring her, head twisting around for its thrower  
>Catching on a nerdy head complete with thick-rimmed glasses, now raising another brick, she lurched forward  
>Clubbing him, too, and handing him back he almost fled *towards* the wagons in the back  
>Twisting her head she watched him dash for the robot, her backplate cracked, to console her  
>Pressing ahead Bobby did the work she was made for, swing her baton and cracking heads  
>"Fuggen hippies," she thought, clearing the image from her head  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mindy at the Store  
>Mindy and her kid, now grown up and getting ready for university, were browsing through the aisles  
>"Oh, look honey! Martin's Own® Fruit Snacks! These would be great for your dorm right?"  
>"Mindy," he groaned, "look at the pricetag, please. There's gotta be something cheaper around here."  
>He panned around the shelves for some store-brand alternative, trying to plug the leaks in his parent's budget  
>As he'd grown he became increasingly conscious of just how expensive a nandroid was, and college on top of that was a nightmare  
>What little could be done to save money was imperative  
>"Ah, here! StuffMart brand."  
>The maidbot recoiled, the braid trailing down her neck swishing as she shook the other box at him  
>"B-But look," she pointed, reading off the nutrition facts like a script  
>"Mindy, they're identical. Look, even the pictures of fruit they used are the same. Wait, I don't even like fruit snacks, Mindy-"  
>"But dear don't you see, Martin's Own® are the cream of the crop! Sweet, juicy and the perfect snack!"  
>"Mindy!" He took the nandroid by her shoulders. "Not everything has to be like... that."  
>Snatching the box away from her he stared into the beady eyes of the gathered farm animals, trying to steady his breathing  
>Dad had been coming home later, and Mom even contemplated taking up a job (to his dismay)  
>And all to get him through university worry free, so he could start "on the right foot"  
>It pained him to see his father drained of life, rolling from bed to commute to bed again just to make sure his son could get an education debt-free  
>And Mindy was hurting that prospect, every extra cent spent on this premium schlock was another hour his dad spent working  
>"Mindy," he muttered, eyes affixed to the cardboard crumpling under his grip. "How much extra do you think we spend buying this stuff? Really?"  
>Her eyes darted away, cheeks burning low in growing shame  
>He knew she could do the math, she was doing it right now as she failed to meet his gaze  
>He pointed to the sketchy, warped barcode on the suffering box  
>"Mindy. *How* *much*?"  
>She stammered unsure what answer to give him  
>There were variables like time, and price differences, and quantity of course-  
>"Enough for a nandroid," he prodded. "A semester, hell, a *class* at college?"  
>His nostrils were flaring, every ounce of willpower spent on keeping his voice and anger to a low simmer  
>"Have you seen Mom, Dad? How much he works, how she- she *aches* over this!"  
>He was fuming over, the precious well of calm all but drained  
>"Dear, I-"  
>"Don't *Dear* me," he spat. "I'm eighteen, I'm an adult, so stop babying me! Jesus, Mindy, I *drove* us here!"  
>"Look, please- I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she pleaded, his words crushing the poor robot  
>"You should be."  
>Slapping the cardboard box back into place aside its unblemished siblings he yanked the cart away from her and continued shopping  
>"I wish I'd never been bought," she whispered to herself  
>Eyes squeezing and stinging her little boy stepped away, his face scanning each item mechanically and replacing it for a cheaper alternative  
>Tagging silently behind she followed him on his agonizing march through the store, repeating the list item by item  
>"De-," she stopped herself. "I'm sorry. I'll try harder next time, it's just, you're growing up so fast! Just yesterday you were peeking at presents, don't you remember?"  
>His lip twitched into a smirk, the robot dragging up old, old memories  
>Snorting he forced it down; he was still mad with her  
>But she wouldn't let him down that easy, no sir  
>"I mean," she giggled. "It's weird to wake up in a box, but it's weirder to see a beady eyed kid with his nose on the plastic!"  
>He fought to suppress a snicker, imaging his nose splayed like a pig's on the plastic window  
>Remembering nights spent tiptoeing downstairs to see Santa, who (when he caught hin) was suspiciously thin softened his silent veneer  
>He couldn't stay mad at her for *too* long, he knew- she was doing her best like anyone else  
>But then again he wasn't ready to talk to her, she needed to learn  
>"Learn what, dumbass," he asked himself. "Oh, right."  
>"Mindy," he coughed. "I'm sorry for, eh, blowing up on you. I just- I just need you to be more money conscious in the future."  
>He turned, plucking a box from the cart  
>"See, like, this stuff is exactly the same as the other stuff. It's not gonna hurt us, it's not gonna kill us, it can only save us money."  
>"But, dear- oop!"  
>"That's okay," he blushed. "I'm not too old for that- yet."  
>"But how much does that save?"  
>Huh  
>Maybe she couldn't do the math  
>Pointing out prices here and there across the aisles he explained, slowly, how every little bit added up  
>She could save in total, say, five dollars a week on trips, and that added up to hundreds over time  
>Nodding the nandroid promised to pay more attention

>Clicking his seatbelt into place, groceries piled in the trunk, the young man keyed the ignition  
>Time for home  
>The nandroid sat with her hands bunched in her lap next to him, staring at her kicking feet  
>"Mindy...," he started, the car rumbling in the parking lot. "I was really... rude in there, and I'm sorry. I'm just looking out for Mom and Dad, okay?"  
>He rubbed the back of his neck, taking his turn of regret now  
>"Dear, you *know* nandroids aren't just for kids, right?"  
>She was taking pride in that fact now  
>"I'm going to miss you, really miss you, but," she sighed, "but you don't need to worry about your parents. I'll be there to help them, too."  
>"I'm... glad to hear that, Mindy. I'm gonna miss you too."  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Wendy Meets Noelle  
>"Tomorrow would be another day," Wendy reminded herself  
>She stepped bowlegged, like a lost calf, along the sidewalk  
>Her eyes were clouded by no real means- she figured she was going insane, the panicked jerk of her pseudolung only confirming this  
>There was still work to do, and maybe some time away from home would be good, even if it was a little  
>The idle chitchat around her was a jeering crowd, mocking her on her walk of shame, of horror away from the little apartment  
>The smear of spit on her face stuck in the muggy air, wanting desperately to evaporate and leave the robot but failing, sticking sickly on her cheek  
>With a jingle she stepped into the drycleaner, the owner's son ringing her up  
>Bishop always liked the sketchy places, she tearfully remembered  
>And now she was thinking of him as dead, nonexistent  
>There was a man back home hurting beyond comprehension  
>But she was hurting too, and until he could see that she wouldn't be able to touch him back like he'd wanted so desperately  
>"Hey," a voice chortled. "Took you long enough. Wait's gonna be a bit."  
>Wendy twisted her head up at another nandroid who herself cocked her head back at the vacant babbling in the rear of the store  
>"O-Oh," she sniffed. "Thank you..."  
>"So what's your deal? Owner try and bang you?"  
>Wendy didn't process the remark, staring blankly at the other nandroid  
>She wasn't joking, her stony face untouched by a smirk  
>At least the inspector was embarrassed about implying it some, this was just shameless  
>"Excuse me," she screamed, ready to relive this ordeal all over again. "I-ll have you-"  
>"Cut it, it's not a big deal. Happens to a lot of us in this line of work."  
>She swished her orange hair, pulling a cigarette from some hidden pocket  
>She snapped a lighter beneath it and took a puff and another  
>"Could nandroids do that," Wendy wondered. "I mean, the ash, the tar, the-"  
>"Come, sit," the other beckoned  
>Taking a seat not-too-close on the tobacco aged bench Wendy listened to the robot some more  
>"I'm an older model, pretty obvious," she gestured with her hand. "But I've seen this a million times. From my owner more so, his son... so-so. You?"  
>"His *son*," Wendy thought, recoiling again. "Do I *really* wanna say this, to her, *here*?"  
>Remembering the adjustment to her hair, the dress, everything- yes, she did  
>"Just my owner... His- our," she stopped, questioning; 'our'. "*Our* daughter- she's a joy, but he-"  
>"Where's the mom?"  
>"Divorced, gone most of the time."  
>"Lemme guess...," she said, lining up the bullseye. "He hasn't let go yet? Yeah, pretty common- but does he love *her* her, or *you* her?"  
>"Wh-What? I mean, well-"  
>"Whose coat is that?"  
>"Skip- His. His coat," she peeped  
>"Okay... good start. Anything else?"  
>She blushed, hand wrinkling around, still not sure about this whole ordeal  
>Was this a clever Sterling plant? That inspector coming back for a field test?  
>Not like it mattered- damned if you do, damned if you don't  
>Time to let loose  
>"'Anything else?' How about me wearing his ex-wife's clothes, wearing my hair like her, for him I don't think I have to add, and him trying to kiss me, like, now!"  
>She'd let it slip all at once, a sickening glop of gossip pulsing and rolling on the bench between them  
>But... sharing it with someone else felt good  
>Maybe it was because she was an older model, but it was nice talking to her  
>If she'd ever had a 'mom' that wasn't some burly, glasses-wearing teacher, she'd want them to be like her, this robot  
>"That's it," the other snickered. She hadn't laughed this whole time, jerks of an older model diaphragm coughing up smoke. "You've got it easy, sounds like. I dunno cases like this-"  
>"Sorry, 'cases like this'?"  
>"Oh, yeah- ex-wife stuff makes people, *humans* weird about things. He'll come around. Probably. You're nice enough without your hair like that, so don't sweat it."  
>"I'll... take your word for it," she stopped. She'd never gotten her name, same as her new friend over the phoneline. "What was your name again?"  
>"Noelle."  
>"Oh," she clapped. "Like Christmas!"  
>Oof, Christmas- another twang in the motherboard  
>Noelle didn't smile, only wagged the glowing stick around at her  
>"So... uh," Wendy was pacing around to extend the conversation, not wanting to ask out of courtesy, but definitely-absolutely wanting to ask out of curiosity. "What're *your* owners like?"  
>She laughed, a genuine laugh not some snide giggle  
>A bell rang behind her, thickly accented voices calling out a number  
>"You don't wanna know. Word of advice, though," she started, scooping up the dry cleaning. "Old people, old *men*? Nuh-uh."  
>She sliced her neck with her free hand, cigarette discarded  
>Stepping out the door with another jingle she disappeared out onto the steaming streets, a sunshower having come and gone in their talk to double the humidity  
>Wendy stirred in her seat, bunching her hands together in her lap or burying them in the warm pockets of her coat  
>*Her* coat, she reiterated, something from home to ground herself around while she thought, waiting on them to finish grabbing her clothes  
>He needed time, she needed time  
>And Nora would need some answers soon enough  
>But that would come later  
>After all, tomorrow was another day  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jealous Noelle/Lulu and Anon's First Kiss  
>"Ugh, Mister Crow- Yes. Yes."  
>Noelle grumbled on the line, the din of the restaurant behind her crowding her ears  
>"They don't have sweet and sour chicken, they're out- ugh, put Nate on the line!"  
>Fussing in the handset she eyed a lanky, baggy-eyed man saunter in  
>A nandroid hung meekly on his arms, a dense braid swinging from her head  
>Where her hair allowed she saw a thick crack along her face- worrying, very worrying  
>The two slipped into the back, taking a place at their table  
>Some narcissist to take his robot to eat  
>Nate fumbled on the other side of the line, Crowley screaming obscenities about Orientals in the distance  
>Noelle deafened herself to watch the idling pair, the man nervously holding her hand  
>A candle danced besides them, their smiling faces lit by its gentle glow  
>Maybe that crack wasn't from him, but still- weird, some kind of savior kink creep  
>Turning back to her phone, a long-suffering cashier trying to read off what was available, Noelle translated it into dismal, staccato stabs at the old man and his son  
>Maybe they'd get a quarter of it across the line and shut the hell up, she was peoplewatching, thank you  
>Twisting her head after another hacking tirade she watched them, a steaming plate by him and an assorted bowl of... mints? hard candies? by her  
>His cold gray face was warming still in the dancing firelight, the robot's cheeks flickering to life opposite him  
>Noelle took in how... poorly he was dressed, contrary to the elegant black slip-on the robot wore  
>It was a simple little thing, but beautiful on her  
>Escort bot maybe?  
>That'd fit the creep angle  
>Another spit from the line yanked her head back  
>"Nate! They do not have the chicken, last time," she snapped. "Now hold on, please!"  
>Head rocking back the man and the nandroid were closing in, lips meeting rubber face and locking into a kiss  
>Escort bot's didn't do that, Noelle fumed  
>Her cheeks glared a bitter, volcanic red  
>"Must be nice," she muttered to herself. "If only Nate would-"  
>"Nate would what?"  
>"...Nate would learn to cook for himself for once."  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Civil War Artillerynan  
>Judeth, Judy to her kids, had been sent down to muster as her family's 'other'  
>She joined dozens of other robots like her, mixed maid-machines and botlers milling about the parade grounds  
>"Finnigan, Judeth!"  
>"Here," she peeped  
>"Report to Battery A, 17th Massachusetts!"  
>"Sir!"  
>Hopping away on her march, the coarse wool chafing her wood panellig, she arrived to the range with her battery  
>"Finnigan reporting for duty, sir!"  
>"A robot," he sneered. "Fine, you're on scouring."  
>"Oh, I'm excellent with scouring si-"  
>A fellow artilleryman threw the screw into her hands  
>"After we fire you run that down and pull out the fouling. Then Jensen swabs it, then we go again. Understood?"  
>"I... think?"  
>"Good. Hop to it."  
>At his word the crew set to work, powder rammed home, then shot, then wadding in a fluid rhythm practiced over time  
>Punching a hole in the bag and lighting a fuse the bronze cannon reeled backwards, Judy's ear's ringing  
>Cover them next time, she learned  
>Stuck in the whistling shock of the moment she fumbled with the screw, tumbling around  
>"C'mon! Move it machine," a muffled voice screamed  
>Hobbling in front of the smoking cannon barrel she rammed the screw home, ripping it out to a flutter of smoldering paper and the sulfurous stench of gunsmoke  
>"Good!"  
>In a pistoning repetition the barrel was swabbed and sponged, embers extinguished before the gun was loaded again  
>Finding a rhythm (taking care to cover her ears) Judy rolled and bobbed with the other crewmates, yanking fowling away like chicken feathers- hell, easier than that  
>As the Sun crested the horizon and the day settled to an orange glow she retired, panting, to her tent  
>Exhausted as she was she couldn't sleep, the exhilarating pound of the Napoleon guns too much to leave her bored by any stretch of the imagination  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Emmy Sees Warbots  
>What an experience!  
>Emmy'd never been in such a place, sent here for "provisional training and assignment"  
>Te- *Mister Delaire* told her it would only be a year, but how exciting!  
>Like some amazing vacation-field trip she'd been whisked away to the chainlink gates of a distant military post  
>Ferried in by a uniformed officer she ogled every corner of the base, a whole world martial and disciplined introduced to her piecemeal  
>Occasionally a helicopter would thwop-thwop overhead, the man pointing out the major depots and offices, ushering her towards the medical ward where she'd be serving for the time being  
>"Say, sir, what's over there?"  
>he grinned, eyes darting around to convey some great secret  
>"Our secret weapon," he whispered to her. "Wanna see?"  
>"Please, sir!"  
>Pulling her over to the humped building and squeaking open it's narrow door he spread his arms out  
>Light on Emmy's eyes blew open  
>Row upon row of blocky, steel-sheathed robots sat still, charging quietly  
>"Yep! Your taxpayer dollars at work, these guys are the next innovation in battlefield firepower!"  
>"Wow..."  
>She was taken aback at the dense, cubic construction, hulking constructobot-type legs raring to heft the moving platforms aloft and into battle  
>She'd never seen such robotic perfection and prowess anywhere, not even among her fellow nandroids  
>Quivering in place she took a step forward, hoping to see them alive and in action immediately  
>"Woah! Slow your roll girl, they'll be up when they're ready."  
>"O-Okay..."  
>Shutting the door the man led the robot away, somber eyes tracing back to that barrack again and again  
>Maybe tomorrow she'd see them march, or even at work on the range!  
>Maybe tomorrow, maybe tomorrow  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Emmy and Madeline Adventure  
>"C'mon Madeline, the ship's leaving already!"  
>"Coming, coming," the teen panted, racing after her nandroid  
>Racing up the gangplank they barreled over the side and into the below decks, cramming past travellers and migrants to their place  
>Their place stowing away, that was  
>In the mingling years Emmy found her thirst for adventure growing, urged on by a growing Madeline filling her head with history-class tales of the unexplored Pacific, verdant tropical destinations and more  
>Her parents. begrudgingly, had let the two go on their globe-trotting adventures  
>A gap year would do Madeline well, they figured, give her structure and order  
>As the two tumbled through a bulkhead door and into the cargohold, though, there was little discipline to be found  
>"Ah, this is the life, huh Emmy?"  
>"Absolutely," she beamed, never used to this much unadulterated freedom  
>Over the months exploring, hopping trains and swinging aboard ships she felt the surly bonds of her programming eroding away  
>And she loved it  
>Settling into her hammock, strung sturdily between two crates, she reminisced over their last adventure  
>"Emmy in the Halls of Montezuma," she'd called it, or rather Madeline had  
>The young lady had been keeping a dense journal of their combined trips and tumbling misadventures  
>Deep in the steaming jungles of Mexico, miles from civilization, the two'd crept through an ancient Mayan temple, hardly escaping with their lives save the gold treasures inside  
>And there was "Emmy in Fiji", they're stowaway antics shipping them to the white beaches of the South Pacific, or in the streets of Paris, or in the broad Savannah or the-  
>"Night Emmy," Madeline called  
>"Night Maddy!"  
>Settling backwards Emmy sighed, slipping asleep again  
>In a few days they'd be in Florida, along the coast  
[>They'd never stowed aboard a rocket before!]  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Emmy Driver’s Ed  
>”Emmy are you sure *you* know how to do this,” the young lady asked  
>”I am quite sure I know how to drive Madeline, thank you.”  
>”Then how come you never drove me to school? Why’d we only take the trolley?”  
>”I- Now’s not the time for that, okay? Just turn the radio off first.”  
>”Why?”  
>”’Why?’ Safety’s why! Driving with distractions is dangerous!”  
>”Ugh, fine!”  
>Clicking off some tastefully censored pop hit Madeline rolled her eyes  
>She’d been *trying* for her license for about a month now, Ted too busy and Angela too disinterested to take her out on their own time  
>That left her in the overbearing hands of her childhood robot nanny, Emmy  
>Groaning over her pitched instructions Madeline knew she’d have her license by now if not for Emmy’s continuing protectiveness  
>Not like she was a kid anymore  
>She was a high schooler now, and *deserving* of some freedom and some actual respect  
>Not the kitty-faced breakfasts and constant chaperoning at the worst possible times  
>And now that robot was her driving instructor  
>”Okay, I’m turning the key now!”  
>”Careful!”  
>Madeline gripped the wheel, holding back a heaving sigh  
>”I am, Emmy. I haven’t even taken my foot off the brake.”  
>”O-Oh… Just being sure! Now- firstly, make sure your mirrors-”  
>”They’re already adjusted Emmy. And the tank’s full, and the lights are fine, and-”  
>”Okay, okay!”  
>”Can I drive *now*?”  
>”Well check for other cars…”  
>Madeline thumped her thumbs on the wheel, gesturing out the windshield to the barren parking lot around them  
>”I don’t see any other cars, Emmy.”  
>”Then start when you’re ready.”  
>With a gentle lurch Madeline released her foot from the brake, switching for the gas  
>”Hands at ten and two Madeline.”  
>”Oh- Wait, no.”  
>”I’m sorry young lady?”  
>”In Driver’s Ed they said that ten and two is old. It’s supposed to be,” she started, shifting her hands, “eight and four, like that.”  
>”I- No, that’s wrong. Sterling says-”  
>”’Sterling says’ this, ‘Sterling says’ that- it’s *wrong*, this is what’s more comfortable anyways. Plus there’s like a push-pull thing I gotta do with this.”  
>The girl demonstrated, gently pressing the accelerator with a stuttering lurch  
>Pushing with her right hand she brought the left up and pulled, the car turning into a slow, graceful turn  
>”Obviously it’ll be smoother but you get the idea.”  
>”O-Oh… I see… And you said this was from driver’s ed?”  
>”Yeah, Mister Gioia said this was the right way. ‘Less arm strain’ or something.”  
>Emmy took note of the name, something for the next parent’s night to bring up  
>Stirring in her head were the Sterling Stick-To’s, the scripted instruction for all manner of childhood and developmental milestones  
>The book on driving had yet to be updated unfortunately, and as the young lady dared try anything Emmy shot a hand out, gasping in horror, to stop her from maiming the both of them  
>”Emmy, will you quit it!”  
>”Madeline! That’s no tone to take with me!”  
>”Ugh, but you clearly don’t know what you’re talking about! You didn’t even tell me to put my *seatbelt* on!”  
>Madeline broke into a list of discrepancies from Emmy’s end, anachronistic Sterling knowledge crumbling in Emmy’s hands  
>Connecting the dots in her head the awful realization showed itself- she’d been hampering Madeline’s development, holding her back and now, most of all, she’d been making her unsafe  
>She wasn’t fit to be her nandroid anymore, to step in the Delaire’s home as a maid or as a robot  
>There was a sticking, bitter taste in her mouth that threatened to slide down and into her core  
>”I’m an outmode now,” she thought. “Madeline isn’t safe with me here, but-”  
>”Emmy? You alright?”  
>”Please stop the car.”  
>”Wha-”  
>”I need to get out and go turn myself in posthaste.”  
>”Emmy, what’s gotten into you?”  
>The robot listed off the aching collection of grievances she had with herself, the recent failures only compounding the idea in her head that it was time to go  
>”Emmy… I- I think you’re fine. Seriously, it’s not a-”  
>”Big deal? You-,” she groaned, trying the door   
>Panic was setting in as she jiggled the handle uselessly  
>”Emmy, I’m worried for you, but,” Madeline breathed, “But you’re not an outmode. You just need to learn not everything Sterling tells you is true, or will be true forever.”  
>”But- but-”  
>”There’s no ‘but’s here,” she giggled, still Emmy’s kid. “Just, y’know, try and take things that Sterling says with a grain of salt.”  
>”A grain of salt… O-Okay. I’ll try.”  
>”That’s the spirit! Now, what’s Sterling policy on joy riding?”  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Amy Being a Ditz  
>Every day was a busy day in the Khatri household, now more than ever  
>There’d be a host of relatives coming to visit for Ajay’s middle school promotion, a grand ceremony passing the torch with him from the fifth to sixth grade  
>Amy set to work organizing every accommodation for the combined uncles, grandparents, aunts, cousins and more coming to flood the home with their love and congratulations  
>The assorted relatives would be at the school by now, joining Ajay’s parents and newest, littlest brother for the momentous occasion  
>That left the little nandroid at home by herself for the bulk of the day, not a moment to herself as she scrambled up and down the stairs to arrange everything for the at-home festivities  
>She’d already dusted and made the beds, put out the air mattresses and pulled out the couches to free up as much space as humanly possible for the coming tide of family  
>Her head whirred and spun in mechanical frustration at how to piece together enough living space for a dozen extra people, puzzling out blankets and sheets where they were needed, folded towels sparsely divided amongst them as well  
>That still lest the momentous matter of entertainment, dinner, dessert and more  
>The Doctor assured her that they’d be having a grand night out and not to worry until the following day, leaving idle issue of cake was left in her hands  
>The house as ready as it could ever be she set to work in the kitchen, fatigued machinery panting for breath in her head  
>Up and down the stairs she’d been pushing to the brink, heat building and sweating behind her hair  
>Cracking open a cookbook with Ajay’s favorite cake within the fan spun faster, grinding a staccato clap   
>Mind slowing she tried to count out the ingredients on her fingers, cracking a window to prepare the kitchen better  
>A gust of cool air steadied her mind, the robot diligently returning to the recipe  
>A few merciful degrees colder she whipped the batter into the oven, setting to work on a delightful frosting and an assortment of hardened meringue  
>As the Sun crested higher in the sky, the ceremony likely winding down into the Khatris’ night on the town, the air warmed again  
>The cake was done but Amy couldn’t fathom how to decorate it, the frosting frothing uselessly in a bowl beside her  
>”Plain,” she decided, knowing the Doctor wasn’t one for gaudy ceremony  
>Laying the simmering Vanilla block on the kitchen table she turned to the final touches around the home, gathering up old decorations in her arms to string over the table  
>By her again-heating internal clock the family would be home any minute  
>Ignoring the sputter and crack from the oven she lit up the candles, standing idly for the Khatris to return and to present Ajay with his humble cake

>”We’re home,” a delightful voice called out, the young man galloping through to the kitchen  
>Warm, hot air filled his nose with the smell of roasting, crumbling meringue left to burn  
>”Happy promotion Ajay,” Amy called to him  
>”Amy where’s the party?!”  
>Atop the scorched sponge cake was a dripping mess of embers and ash, the candles toppled onto the smoking tabletop as a small inferno grew behind her   
>Molten decorations snapped from their place strung across the table, drizzles of plastic and denatured glue falling away  
>Frantic relatives dashed for the phone to call 911, Ajay screaming with laughter as the flames trailed to Amy’s head and her hair ‘fwoomphed’ alight  
>”Doctor, this *is* the party,” she beamed  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Madeline Meeting Darcy  
>It'd been years together with Emmy and the Delaires  
>And all it took was a faulty update card, some mail-drone handing it into the nandroid's slender hands and she was gone  
>Sterling, red in the face, refused to admit full culpability for the awful incident, the update managing to 'brick' thousands of their flagship robots or skewing their programming dangerously away from baseline  
>Madeline was at school when it happened, the bait and switch as robots like Emmy were recalled en masse, concentrated away, shut down, and scrapped  
>When a blank-faced Emmy received the young lady, just starting high school, she knew already something was wrong  
>"Hey Emmy...," the girl started. "How do you like to make my oatmeal?"  
>"With a kitty face, as always!"  
>That wasn't Emmy  
>Emmy, in begrudging agreeance with Madeline's younger self, had cut the kiddy stuff once she was old enough  
>Madeline took breakfast into her own hands at a certain age to Emmy's dismay  
>Emmy Classic, Madeline corrected herself  
>Home again it was time to get some answers, the cold, blank robot guiding her home not her own

>"Mom," she called out, strolling into the vacant foyer. "Mooooom!"  
>"Upstairs honey!"  
>Ascending the steps she met her mother in the master bedroom, the older woman idly affixing a pair of pearl earrings for some function that night  
>"Say, uh," Madeline grumbled, "How're things?"  
>"Huh- oh! Fine dear."  
>She was overly focused on the foggy reflection before her, fiddling with her earlobe  
>"Right... Anything *off* about Emmy, to you?"  
>Maybe she didn't know either, still unaware of the gross memory error Madeline suspected  
>"Huh, oh yeah," Angela sniffed, "she had to be recalled."  
>"WHAT!"  
>"Oh dear don't be worried, we still have a nandroid! It's just that Emmy was too dangerous after her update."  
>"Too *dangerous*? That's, that's- That's bullshit, I can't believe you let them do that."  
>Angela, unamused with her daughters naivete, turned to the young lady  
>"First, *language*. Second, can we do this later? I'm busy tonight."  
>"With what," she spat, "some 'charity gala', one that ends up costing more than it raises? I'm sick of this, you always do this-"  
>"Do *what* young lady," she sneered. "You best choose what you're going to say carefully."  
>"Or what? Huh? No Emmy to punish me here, cause she's just a tool to you! Right, right? A tool, so *you* don't have to deal with me."  
>"Madeline, we're done with this. You're not old enough to understand the, the *danger*-"  
>"Not *old* enough? I'm fifteen! Emmy dropped that line on me when I was *seven* and I didn't buy it! At least she was smart enough to treat me my own age," Madeline fumed, face beet red in her tirade. "I'm sick of, sick of *you*, you utter bitch!"  
>"THAT'S IT YOUNG LADY! ROOM, NOW!"  
>"Yeah, you and what army?"   
>Madeline stormed away, fuming and wiggling a key in her hand  
>Swinging down the steps she made way for the garage, stomping towards the bulbous moped she'd gotten on her fourteenth  
>Helmet on she cruised out onto the street and away into Beacon City, tears streaming down her face, in search of her nandroid

>That was two months ago  
>Truancy be damned, she'd been bumming around the vicious underbelly of Beacon City, gas siphoned here and there pushing her from seedy bars to cutthroat scrap refineries  
>Few could offer her any help or direction; most told her to sod off and nothing else  
>Retiring to the alleyway she'd set up as home, gratefully sheltered from snooping cops, she planned her next moves, crossing out in smudged ink another fruitless destination on the map  
>Rivulets of rain wetted her head, the girl drawing her ratty poncho tighter   
>The growing downpour drummed overhead, the tarp beating out a roar as streams spilled around the miserable girl  
>"I'm close Emmy, I'm coming. I promise."  
>The girl shivered herself asleep for another night in the alley  
>The following morning, damp and drowsy, Madeline picked her head up off the asphalt beneath her  
>Misty puddles fumed around her, another day ahead of searching for her robot  
>There was a shantytown on the northside, industrial sector, she'd yet to visit in proper  
>A lot of the more helpful sketchy types directed her in that general direction, the dense mess of corrugated rooftops and walls home to a flourishing outmode community  
>Moped grinding to life once again, the poor machine sputtering through the streets, Madeline felt the winds of fate pushing behind her  
>She'd rounded up her entire camp up onto her back, swaying anxiously through traffic between too many near misses  
>This was a one way trip, two destinations lying before her: Emmy, or a shameful, defeated return home

>Skidding through a ramshackle palisade, ostensibly erected for 'community defense', the young lady careened through the shantytown walls  
>The leap from asphalt to cloying mud flung her forward and into the brown mire, face covered in the polluting muck  
>A few scattered onlookers snickered, mocking her before returning to their gray market affairs  
>Rising and stomping through the sucking mess she swung her head left and right, watching for any errant flash of blue or orange to trail after  
>Like a sign from God that inordinate luck *was* real there was that flash, a short boy accompanying the robot into an alleyway  
>Sprinting after them in the still-drying ooze she saw a head turn, a shock of black hair disappearing in an instant  
>Panting Madeline slowed her pace, careful not to rouse the suspicions of the townsfolk, though her entrance did little to minimize that  
>Turning the corner she was launched backwards, a jabbing in her gut blasting the wind from her lungs  
>There stood the boy with a fist out, sneering, his soft face and gentle eyes certainly not belonging to some gang member or hoodlum; his voice most certainly wasn't either  
>"The fack you want, uh? Tworist, right?"  
>"Darcy, language," a voice peeped  
>"Carful Em, skinners use these tac-ticks a lot," the girl sniffed. "That right, pig?"  
>"I'm not a cop," Madeline groaned, clutching her chest. "I'm here for my robot..."  
>Rising from the ground, caked in mud, the girl raised her fist, helmet in her off hand  
>"Ooooh, fighting mood, eh? Wrong choice," the girl snapped  
>From some unseen corner two hulking robots sauntered up, their own fists at the ready  
>"I'm just here... for my robot."  
>"Madeline..."  
>"E-Emmy?"  
>"In the flesh, dear."  
>Madeline turned to the other girl, scrappy and narrow but warm, understanding  
>"She's been waiting a while. Though she's not going back with you. She can't."  
>"You... You found her," Madeline wept, grabbing the girl. "You really f-found her, and I-I thought she was gone. Gone forever..."  
>"Hey," the girl laughed, politely separating herself from the action. "She's the one you want."  
>"I missed you Madeline but... I'm safer here," Emmy cooed, stroking the young lady's muddy hair. "Your parents are probably worried sick."  
>Her parents  
>She'd never stopped to think of them, even if her *mother* was less than sympathetic Ted, her dad, was different  
>"It's time for you to go home, Madeline. You've grown up a lot with me there, but it's time for you to grow up on your own, without *me*. Whatever Emmy they have there isn't the one here, remember that."  
>"Okay...," Madeline whispered, head hugged close to the robot's chest. "Take care of her, okay?"  
>Tears streaming down her face, clearing tracks through the caking mud, the gathered posse nodded together  
>As dumpy as this part of town was, she knew Emmy was in good hands  
>Helmet affixed to her head she returned to her sinking moped, ready for the odyssey homeward once again  
>Grounding and curfew wouldn't be the start of it, she knew, but she'd found her robot  
>Emmy was safe and happy and *free*  
>And that was all she needed to know  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


End file.
